


Slipping

by Sara_Ellison



Series: Loss of Balance [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, RPF - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: M/M, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert is in danger of slipping and falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this interview](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cn6Ws4oK1jg). When I first saw it, I was floored by the palpable sexual tension...

Robert can't stop staring. It's getting to be a problem. He's begun zoning out during interviews; so often on the press junket he finds himself seated next to Tom, and his attention drifts more toward his co-star than the hapless young woman asking him the same series of questions as every other interviewer across the globe.

Robert is leaning over in his seat, and anyone with the barest knowledge of body language could read him like a book. He's got a hand resting on the back of Tom's chair; at this distance, he barely needs to reach. The space is tiny and they're crammed together, seated so close they're practically in each other's laps. Tom's seat is the most comfortable place to put his hand; it's natural, like he was meant to end up in this position, leaning in toward Tom with his gaze skating over the side of his face. Tom looks at him in return; the interviewer is speaking to them, and Robert's hand tightens on the back of Tom's chair so he doesn't slip and fall into his eyes.

He watches the way Tom's jaw moves when he speaks. The girl says something about how they should be happy. "Perk up," Robert orders, and Tom laughs, and Robert thrills to see the way his lips stretch around his grin, baring his teeth, shark-like.

The grin in that moment is very Loki, but the eyes are all Tom, genuine mirth softening the sharpness of his smile. Everything about Tom is sharp: his teeth, his jaw, his eyes. Robert thinks Tom's cheekbones could be broken glass, and wants to cut his flesh upon them.

He answers a question, not really paying attention. It's always the same to start off--why the movie's good, why everyone loves it or should love it or will love it. Tom rescues him when he starts to ramble, leaning into him with a coquettish smile and picking up Robert's loose thread. Robert's breath catches, and he can _smell_ Tom, the product in his hair and the deodorant and cologne and under it all, the musk that is _him_ , the accumulated aroma of having been working all day in stuffy rooms. Robert concentrates for the next few seconds on just breathing normally, because he thinks his mind is starting to show on his face. Inhale, exhale, willing his body under control because these trousers won't hide a damn thing if he stands up or even shifts in his seat. Inhale, exhale, and Tom is still talking but he's looking at Robert like he _knows_ , he can read Robert like a book and he knows if he stares too long he'll start to slip and fall into those ice-blue eyes.

Robert shifts his gaze away, looking back at the interviewer. Inhale, exhale, and he chances a glance back at Tom, who shifts his gaze away and looks back at the interviewer for a few beats before turning back to Robert like he's pulled by a magnet. His eyes are dangerous, pulling him in so Robert shifts his gaze away to look back at the interviewer. Inhale. Exhale.

The girl asks about the fight scenes--predictable, predictable--but Tom gives him an opening Robert can't resist. "I remember you telling me to squeeze harder," he says with a lilt in his voice that says, _Yes, I know what you're thinking._

"And then we were filming the next day!" Robert says, and Tom laughs and stumbles a little like he's fighting off the same onslaught of mental images of the two of them entwined and bare, and Robert steps in smoothly to cover for him.

There's a question about Tony's snark and Robert can't leave _all_ the talking to Tom, as much as he'd like to spend the rest of his days listening to that velvet voice but this one is really for him. He pulls his hand back, needing to concentrate on answering the question and not the heat of Tom's body radiating through his clothing where it brushes Robert's fingers, and Tom leans into him as he does so as though he's tethered, looking at him as though to ask what the hell he's doing. That's _way_ more distracting, having Tom in his space like that, not that there was much room between them before but it's a Herculean feat to overcome his reluctance and place his hand back on Tom's chair so he can breathe.

The interwiewer is blushing a little, and Robert wonders if she has a crush--she wouldn't be the first one--or if she can feel the heat in the room that Robert had kind of assumed was just in his blood, or if she's noticed that Tom has just shifted his hand from where it was resting on his own seat to Robert's, and the back of his hand is brushing Robert's thigh, fingers moving in a subtle dance that ensures Robert can't uncross his legs until the cameras are off. That touch is killing him, especially when the girl asks about Loki's costume and Tom mentions all that leather and metal while his knuckles graze over Robert's hip.

He starts to talk again because he'll be lost if he doesn't, and Tom pulls his hand back like he's finished a job, self-satisfied and smug as he fiddles with his jacket and folds his arms. Robert throws the interviewer a bone, _I really was paying attention, see?_ and keeps going until he says something slightly nonsensical about delayed gratification. Tom takes over at that point; he starts talking about release and being tied up and Robert goes back to breathing. Inhale, exhale; he slips out a "Wow" when Tom says something that sounds like it's supposed to be impressive. He's starting to suspect that they can tell he's losing focus on the interview, but he can't bring himself to care.

When it's finally over, Robert waits for Tom to stand up first. He's half a head taller than Robert and no one will notice Robert's boner if he stays in Tom's shadow. He follows his co-star out onto the street where the late afternoon sunlight makes him squint after the dimness of the studio. Tom stumbles a little as he walks, casually falling into Robert's side and catching himself with an arm slung around Robert's shoulders. Robert reciprocates, slipping his arm around Tom's waist, hand resting over a razor-sharp hipbone.

"What's with you today?" he asks, oh so casual. "Seems like you can't keep your hands off me." Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and his heart's about to break the sound barrier.

Tom shrugs. "You heard her," he says. "Last interview. This is it. End of the line, press junket's over. After tonight, we go our separate ways."

"Until the Earth is threatened again," Robert quips.

"Hopefully not that long," Tom replies. He gives Robert's shoulder a squeeze, long fingers tightening and releasing like he's just trying it out. "Besides, isn't the Earth always being threatened, in one form or another?"

Robert clears his throat. They're nearly back to the hotel and he decides to go for broke. "How do you want to spend our last night together?" It's a little trick that has served him well--act as though there's no question of getting what you want, and reality tends to conform to your expectations.

"I'm open to suggestion," Tom says, innuendo-laden and unmistakable. "What are you thinking?"

"Right now, I'm thinking about how you can't keep your hands off me," Robert answers blithely.

Tom laughs, his arm slipping from Robert's shoulders as though to contradict him as he gestures for Robert to precede him into the hotel lobby. "We could get a drink," he says.

Disappointing. "Okay," Robert says. "Where do you want to go?"

Tom hums in the back of his throat, neutral. "My room has a minibar." He pushes the elevator button and steps back, watching Robert's face.

Robert stares back. He feels himself slipping now, undeniable and accelerating. "Your eyes are so blue," he murmurs, not sure if he meant to say it aloud but it turns out he did so there isn't much to do about it.

"Am I," Tom starts to ask. "I mean, you and--"

"No," Robert interrupts. "Me and nobody. It's just you, okay?"

The elevator dings, and they wait while a bellhop pushes a cart full of luggage out of the car before stepping on. Tom leans back against the side wall, and Robert stands opposite him. The walls are mirrored; behind him, Robert's reflection stares at Tom's, and behind them, another pair of the two of them, and another.

"Jude?" Tom persists.

"No," Robert says. "Okay, maybe yeah, the eyes, the voice, let's say I have a type. But you're not standing in for anyone I'd rather--there's no one I'd rather."

Tom smiles, not the wide sharp grin but a smaller, tamer curve of his lips. "Good," he says. "I can't compete with Jude Law."

Robert shrugs. "You could," he counters. "It'd be a fair fight, anyway."

Tom chuckles and pushes himself off the wall as the doors open on their floor. He leads the way to his room, unlocks the door and waits for Robert to enter first.

When the door swings shut, Robert finds himself backed up against it with Tom's long thigh pressing between his legs. "I thought you wanted a drink," he says.

"It can wait." Tom's voice is a low purr that sends shivers down Robert's spine. "Right now, I want you." His long fingers are unbuttoning Robert's waistcoat, swiftly moving down the row, and Robert stiffens towards those hands.

"That works for me," Robert says weakly. His hands are on Tom's waist, under his jacket, feeling the heat bleeding through his shirt. Tom presses his lips to Robert's neck just above his collar, and Robert bites back a whimper.

Tom pulls away. "We're not doing this against the door," he says. He pulls Robert with him, slipping out of his jacket and dropping it on the floor. Robert's vest joins it, and he begins working on his own shirt buttons as Tom unbuckles his belt and pulls his shirt off.

Damn but he's gorgeous, and Robert almost trips over himself as he tries to toe his shoes off. They really should be untied first but he can't care about that right now, when Tom is sitting back on the bed with all that bare skin just begging to be licked. Robert gets his shirt off and knees onto the bed, straddling Tom's thighs as he bends to press his mouth to Tom's abdomen. He kisses just above Tom's navel, tongue darting out to taste the skin, warm and sweat-salty.

Tom huffs out a breath, unvoiced. His hand is on Robert's back, fingers tracing up his shoulder blade, pulling gently up so Robert moves, sliding up, kissing wetly up the length of Tom's torso, each taste better than the last. Tom moans when Robert closes his mouth on Tom's throat and sucks. He knows the rules all too well, no marks, no evidence, so he breaks away too soon and opens his eyes.

Tom is staring at him, his pupils dilated with lust, and Robert realizes he never had a chance of not falling into those eyes. He leans in to kiss him, he can't help it, and Tom's mouth opens under his, his tongue beckoning. Tom kisses eagerly, lips wide, tongue thrusting against Robert's and curling around it, drawing it deeper into his mouth and Robert knows he is long past the point of no return.

Robert's slacks are uncomfortably confining, and he can only imagine the agony Tom must be experiencing in those tight jeans. He shifts away, kissing down Tom's jaw as he wrestles with his own belt buckle, finally getting his trousers open as he kisses down to Tom's chest. He curls his tongue around a nipple, and Tom bites out, " _Fuck_. That's it..." His whole body is tense, nearly arching off the bed as Robert mouths at his chest, trailing fingers down Tom's belly on the way to the waistband of his jeans.

Robert gets the jeans open and Tom gasps in relief as his erection is freed. Robert glances down and his brain stalls because he was expecting underwear of some sort and there isn't any, just Tom's cock flushed beautifully at the head, and damned if he isn't leaking down his length. "Jesus," Robert says, "look at you." His brain is still struggling back into gear.

"It's not there to be _looked_ at," Tom grouses. He wriggles his hips, pushing his jeans down until Robert pulls them off his legs.

"Tell me," Robert says contemplatively, regarding Tom's cock as though it's a sculpture in a museum. "How badly do you want me to suck you right now?"

Tom groans. " _Please_. I need your mouth."

Robert chuckles. "Well, fuck, since you asked so nicely." He leans in and laps at the glistening head, making Tom jerk under him. "I didn't realize it would be so easy to make you beg." He wraps his hand around the shaft to hold it still and swallows it down.

Tom makes an indescribable noise, somewhere between a scream and a moan, and grabs a fistful of Robert's hair. He pants for a moment, then says, "Loki of Asgard does not beg."

Robert nearly chokes as he laughs. "Mm mff," he answers. He pulls off a little, sucking, running his tongue along the underside. He finds that spot just under the head that makes Tom whimper and works at it with his tongue, stroking his hand languidly up and down the shaft.

"Yes," Tom says, somehow sounding simultaneously smug and wrecked, "I am burdened with glorious penis."

Robert is laughing too hard to continue blowing Tom; he's afraid he'll choke, or bite him by accident or something. "I can't argue with that," he manages, swiping his thumb over the slick head.

"Stop," Tom gasps. "Stop that." He gives Robert's hair a tug, then levers himself up. "Why the fuck are you still wearing pants?" he demands.

Robert shrugs, pulling down his boxers and trousers together and kicking them off. "Better?"

"Getting there," Tom nods. "Get on your hands and knees on the bed, please." Robert moves to comply, and Tom barks, "I said, _kneel!_ "

Robert cracks up. "Do you wanna roleplay? Is that what this is?" he gets out between howls of laughter. "You wanna have angry fighty hatesex as Loki and Tony Stark?"

Tom shrugs, moving behind Robert. "Not this time," he says, running a hand along Robert's spine contemplatively. "Just trying it out, seeing how it feels."

"And?" Robert prompts. His skin tingles where Tom touches him, and his cock is aching, but he resists the temptation to touch himself.

"It's nice," Tom admits, "but not, I think, essential, not especially enriching to the experience." He bends down and kisses Robert's ass, and Robert has to bite his lip hard on a smart remark.

He moans as Tom licks a stripe up from Robert's balls to his hole, chokes back a whimper when he feels that hot tongue probing at the tight muscle. "Would you please," he grits out, "get on with it?"

Tom pauses. "What was that?" he asks maddeningly. His hand is resting on Robert's hip, fingertips tracing teasing patterns.

"Hurry up and fuck me," he says.

He can _hear_ Tom's smirk. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Robert heaves a sigh. "Please will you put your dick in my ass," he grumbles.

Tom hums contemplatively. "No," he says, and Robert nearly screams in frustration. "Not like this. Turn over."

Robert flops onto his back, letting his legs fall open. Tom leans over him, slim hips bracketed by Robert's thighs, and Robert forgets how to breathe for a moment. He didn't realize how much he lacked when he didn't have Tom's blue eyes locked with his, and now he's home. He grips the back of Tom's neck and pulls him down for a rough kiss.

His other hand slips down and finds Tom's cock, because Robert is absolutely done waiting. He guides it to his entrance, shifting his hips until he's comfortable and settling with his legs wrapped around Tom's waist as the blunt head pushes in, gasping as it breaches the ring of muscle. Tom bites down on Robert's lower lip, tugging with his teeth as he slides in steadily, and fuck he's huge. Robert had noticed, before, when he had that cock between his lips, he could barely touch his mouth to his fist wrapped around the base, but that realization hardly prepared him for the reality of having it inside him. He's pretty sure he feels the head bumping up somewhere under his ribcage, or maybe that's just his heart trying to break out of his chest. The fact remains that Tom is _long_ , long limbs surrounding Robert and long fingers wrapping around his erection and long cock buried to the hilt inside him.

"So good," he mumbles against Tom's mouth. "Fucking hell, your cock."

Tom grins, pulling back and thrusting, and holy mother of fuck he's _good_ , not just pistoning into Robert but rolling his hips, gyrating and twisting just so on each thrust, dragging over Robert's prostate until he sees stars, Tom's hand drawing pulses of precome from his cock. "God," he whimpers.

Tom moans in response, and Robert can feel the tremble in his limbs. "You," he says, swallows hard and tries again. "You were made to be fucked."

Robert's riding too high to laugh, but he grins and squeezes a handful of Tom's ass. "Got any more?" he prompts. "Do you have an army? An ant has no quarrel with a boot?"

"It must burn you," Tom hisses, and the rest of the line is muffled in Robert's mouth. His rhythm is growing erratic, his hips falling out of sync with his hand on Robert's cock as he stumbles toward ecstasy. Robert is damn close himself, his thighs trembling with need, moaning with pleasure, and between Tom's hand and his cock, he's on the verge of forgetting his own name.

Tom is surprisingly quiet when he comes. It's only the motion of his hips that gives it away, the way he suddenly stills and then jerks, thrusting hard once, twice, and Robert can feel him pulsing inside him. His eyes are wide, locked still with Robert's, and it's the look on his face as much as anything, that expression of wonderment and bliss that gives Robert the final push over the edge as well. He cries out and curses, spurting up to his chest, his body convulsing, clenching around Tom's cock and _that_ draws a sound from him, a strangled noise of agonized pleasure.

Robert is floating somewhere soft and warm and a little damp, but damn it feels good. It's only when Tom shifts inside him that he comes back down, wincing at the sensation. He's got all his limbs wrapped around Tom, and he doesn't want to let him go but he knows it will be worse if he doesn't let him pull out now, so he takes a deep breath and relaxes.

Tom doesn't go far, just settles beside Robert, half on top of him and half on the bed, resting like a lead weight. It's not uncomfortable. Robert sighs happily, drifting toward sleep when a phone rings.

"That's mine," Tom groans, half muffled against Robert's collarbone, and doesn't move.

"Could be important," Robert points out.

"Mmf," Tom says dismissively.

Robert wriggles out from under him, locates Tom's discarded jeans, and pulls the phone from his pocket. "It's Jeremy," he says, and answers it.

"Dinner," Jeremy says without preamble, and names a restaurant nearby. "Five minutes. You coming?"

"Sure," Robert says, "but could you make it ten? We need to shower."

There's a pause. "Robert?" Jeremy says. "I thought I called Tom."

"You did," Robert replies. "He was too lazy to get out of bed and answer it."

"I see," Jeremy says. "And the reason he's in bed at six PM?"

There's a scuffling sound over the line, followed by an Australian-accented roar. "Downey! Did you just hook up with Hiddleston?" Hemsworth shouts.

"Well, that didn't take long," Tom remarks from the bed.

Robert holds the phone away from his ear, rubbing it. "Yes," he sighs.

"EVANS! YOU OWE ME MONEY!" Hemsworth bellows, and Robert hangs up on him, wincing.

"They took bets on us?" he asks.

Tom nods, standing up and stretching, and Robert takes a moment to appreciate the sight of his glorious nudity. "If my intel is good, I believe Hemsworth, Scarlett, and Mark came out ahead."

Robert snorts. "Well, I'm glad our actions benefitted most of the cast." He puts the phone back in Tom's pocket. "Come on. Shower. We leave for dinner in seven minutes."

Miraulously, they manage to keep their hands off each other long enough to get showered and dressed, though they can't resist making out in the elevator on the way down. They join the rest of the group, only six minutes late, to find Jeremy and Scarlett engaged in a heated debate.

"Sex is sex," she's saying. "It really doesn't matter who did what to who. You're just trying to weasel your way out. Pay up, Renner."

"Hemsworth asked if they _hooked up_ ," Jeremy argues. "For all we know that just means kissing and handjobs. The bet was _specifically_ that Tom would fuck Robert, and I'm not handing over a cent until we know the details."

"You could just ask," Robert says.

Jeremy jumps and swears. "You couldn't have told me they were _right behind me?_ " he complains.

"Funnier this way," Evans points out, grinning.

"Well?" Jeremy says. "I'm asking. What did _hooking up_ entail?"

"My prick, his arse," Tom says. "Do you need more detail?"

"No," Jeremy grumbles.

"And a bit of oral, and some kissing," Robert adds. He kisses Tom, just because.

"Pay up," Scarlett says sternly, and Jeremy reluctantly hands over a wad of cash.

"You okay there, Mark?" Robert asks. His friend's face is rather red.

"Peachy," Mark says, grinning. "Made a fair bit of money tonight. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Happy to oblige," Robert says.

"I won on the what and when," Mark tells him. "Honestly, though, I thought you'd be on top."

Robert shrugs. "Maybe next time we'll switch it up," he says.

"Next time?" Mark repeats.

Robert can feel his enthusiasm showing on his face, and Mark chuckles. "Oh, yeah," Robert says, turning to look at Tom where he's chatting with the Chrises. "Every chance I get."


End file.
